


Sanctum

by nikia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Yule Ball (Harry Potter)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 06:29:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28666260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nikia/pseuds/nikia
Summary: The war may be over, but its after effects are not lost on those who fought in the battle. Harry has it the worst. He’s plagued by nightmares, and by the guilt of knowing there were those he couldn’t save. Harry returns to Hogwarts for his eighth year alone, Ron choosing to go straight into auror training, and Hermione into an apprenticeship at St. Mungo's. He finds sanctuary in his old rival Malfoy, another tortured soul who also returned alone and for some reason, feels indebted to him. Oh, and did I mention, theres a ball?
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Dancing Lessons

The castle was quiet when Harry arrived. It was the middle of the night, McGonagall had thought it best that the war hero be snuck swiftly into the castle when all the younger students were asleep. The walked the hallowed halls quickly, Mcgonagall with the tip of her wand lit and Harry with his luggage charmed to float behind him. Wing after wing of dark school stretched out behind them lit only by the pale light of the moon and the odd sconce as they walked deeper into the castle.

The pseudo-dormitory for the eight years was in an old wing of the castle that had been unused for the past century. Its halls were caked with dust, and the portraits often sneezed when a student would walk past. 

The dormitory itself was clean. Its common room was a big circular affair. high arched stone walls opened the space. Despite this, it was cozy. Fat armchairs sat around a billowing fire and thick woven rugs covered the wooden floor which was notched with the impressions of centuries of foot-traffic. The walls were draped in none of the house colors, but instead a deep velvety purple that sparkled when the candlelight touched it. It was night now, but in the daytime the arched windows let in streams of sunlight and illuminated the portrait of Albus Dumbledore on the far wall. Each student had an individual room, McGonagall had seen to it that each of them would have their privacy. Despite Hogwarts’ call that all of last years seventh-years were welcome back for an extra term, only four had decided to return: Millicent Bulstrode, Lisa Turpin, Draco Malfoy, and Harry himself. 

The individual rooms shared the purple theme of the larger dormitory however each had the crest of the student’s house emblazoned on a wall hanging. Lush purple bedding covered the queen size four posters and each bed had four fluffy pillows. There was a writing desk and chair in the corner of the rooms. The dormitory also sported two shared gender charmed bathrooms. Harry didn’t know why they needed the charm. They were all adults here and it didn’t seem like he was going to have a hand up Millicent’s skirt anytime soon anyways.

Harry’s room was at the far end of the dormitory closest to the bathrooms. The lion of Gryffindor started down at him as he changed into his pajamas. Harry padded to the bathroom in bare feet and found it empty as he went to brush his teeth. He returned to his dormitory and fell asleep to the creaking sounds of an old castle.

…

Harry was falling down, down, down into darkness. It was entering his lungs, suffocating him. He was drowning. Harry chocked on black water as he descended into crushing pressure. He opened his mouth to scream but only drew more black water into his lungs. He forced his eyes open and found himself in the middle of an onyx sea. Something deep and dark slithered past him brushing his legs. Hands, thousands of them reached up from the abyss to drag him deeper. He heard them calling to him.

_Harry…._

His eyes shot open and he sat up straight in bed.

…

Breakfast was an auspicious affair being the first breakfast the new students were to experience at the castle. Fat sausages sat next to hearty slices of ham and turkey. There was thick toast and pastries, with gooey marmalade and fresh butter to spread. Eggs of every style: boiled, poached, scrambled, and more sat on silver platters. Goblets of pumpkin juice and apple cider lay spread about the table and mugs of steaming tea and hot chocolate were interspersed. The house colors hung from the high ceiling which was charmed to look like the break of day. Harry took to the toast spreading a heaping portion of jam and butter on it. The Eighth Years sat at their own small table in the corner which was round with four chairs spread evenly around it. None for them talked, not having been particularly close in their earlier days at Hogwarts. Harry found his attention drifting over to his old rival who was delicately cutting his poached eggs with a butter knife. Malfoy regarded his food daintily. _Even the way he eats is refined,_ Harry notes and returns to his sausage.

Headmistress McGonagall takes to her podium at half past seven. 

“The Yule Ball will be held this year to celebrate our victory in the War,” she begins and launches into a description of the years coming festivities. This is the fist time Harry has heard her mention the war since its finale last year. “All students,” She turns her gaze to the makeshift Eighth Year table. “Are encouraged to attend,” She finishes and the crowd erupts in joyous cheers.

…

Eighth Year was all about independent study, Preparing for the N.E.W.T.S they had missed out on the previous year. Harry wasn’t sure which N.E.W.T.S exactly he was going to take. He figured in his first couple of weeks he would try a little bit of everything and weed out the subjects that he was no good at. On Monday morning, Harry found himself in an empty classroom in the dungeons working on potions. Potions was as much theory as it was hands on practice, and although he had been fairly good at the course in his Sixth Year, the Half Blood Prince’s book had long been destroyed in the battle, and the new N.E.W.T level potions were something else entirely. He had brewed the Draught of Living Death perfectly two years ago however now he was struggling with it.

_Stir twice clockwise._

_Stir seven times anti-clockwise_

Harry added the diced sloth brain and the potion turned an angry red color and boiled over, oozing scarlet liquid all over his workspace. He groaned and threw his hands up, _this was so pointless._ Hewent to fetch new ingredients. Harry walked to the ingredients closet and was sufficiently annoyed when he found the box for Valerian root was empty save for a few lone sprigs. It had all been used up the previous school year and had never been replenished. Merlin truly had it out for him. Harry sighed knowing he would have to make a trip down to the greenhouses.

The castle grounds were damp and dark in the morning light. It was a cold blistery Fall, the trees had begun to turn colors and fall softly to the ground. Dew droplets frosted the grass and the stone tiles on the way down to the greenhouses were slick with water. It was raining only slightly and little droplets collected on Harry’s hair. Harry made sure not to slip as he made his way to his destination. A mild breeze rustled his robes as he came to the ornate glass doors. He knocked, once, twice, and waited as the large doors to fell open to reveal his old friend.

  
“Neville!”

“Harry!” The men embraced. Nevill had started his internship under professor Sprout during the summer and was officially a full blown student teacher. He had grown a beard over the summer and looked a fair bit older than he did when he was in school. “I missed you, mate. How’ve you been?”

“Well, I've been alright.” Harry knew his eyes betrayed that he hadn’t been sleeping. Neville knew the feeling. Ever since the war his sleep had been wracked with nightmares and night terrors.

“Yea. Me too. But no mattter, come, help with the mandrakes.” And just an hour later Harry found himself laughing elbow deep in potting soil as he replanted squealing roots with his childhood friend.

…

…

“Dancing lessons!” Chirped McGonagall cheerfully. “No student of mine will graduate without knowing how to waltz. Mr. Potter if you will demonstrate?” She gestured to where the Eighth Years stood surrounded by a crowd of Fifth and Fourth Years.

  
“I really don’t think thats necessary—“ Harry pleaded.

“Nonesense Mr. Potter, come now Mrs. Bullstrode will be your partner.”   


Harry gritted his teeth as he took Millicent’s hand as the first few notes of the waltz lilted out of the gramophone. He did his best to spin her around the room but fell woefully short and found himself tripping over his own legs. He stepped on one of her massive feet at one point and she shrieked.

  
“Stop!” Called McGonangall over the music. “Really Mr. Potter in your advanced age one would think you would know how to dance!” She remarked to snickers from the crowd of students. “Mr. Malfoy if you please.” Harry wen’t to return to his place sulking in the corner of the room when he noted the Millicent had already slipped back into the crowd. He turned in horror to see Malfoy holding his hand out to him. He looked with panicked eyes over to where McGonagall stood only to see her nodding expectantly at him.   
  
“You may begin.” The grainy waltz music started up again as Harry moved to place his hand at the other man’s waist.

“Oh please Potter, you can seriously think you're going to lead.” Malfoy stated. Harry reluctantly dropped his arm.Malfoy snatched it then placed it at his shoulder and they were off. The other students howled in laugher and let out whistles of encouragement as the savior of the wizarding world was spun around the room like a lady. Harry couldn’t help but notice that Malfoy was actually fairly good at this. He expertly led Harry in a dance timed perfectly to the music. Harry desperately tried not to trip over himself as he danced. He had already made a fool of himself once. He screwed his face up in concentration.

“Having fun Potter?” Harry felt his face flush in anger and he pushed Malfoy away from him hard. The other boy fell flat on his arse and the room erupted in laughter.

“Boys!” McGonagall shouted. “That is enough! Mr. Malfoy go cool down, Mr. Potter that disgraceful display just cost Gryffindor 10 points.” The other students groaned. “Truly after eight years you’d think they could be civil. McGonangall muttered under her breath. 

Harry stormed to his dorm room, face still flushed with embarrassment. He walked to the bathroom and turned on the sink. He held his head under the rush of cool water trying to cool off. After all these years Malfoy still had the same effect on him. The boy was infuriating, but there was something else growing in Harry’s stomach. A kind of exhilaration. Harry pushed it away and returned to his room.

…

The following night at half past nine, the Eighth Year common room was all but deserted save for Harry and Malfoy who were each absorbed in their own work. Harry writing half a length of parchment for Charms and Draco nose buried in a book on practical potion making. The roaring fire crackled as the two worked, music to the otherwise silent room. The moon peered in through the window and a sky full of stars stretched out above them. An hour passed in easy silence before it was broken by a soft voice.

  
“Harry?” Harry looked up from his parchment. “Harry?” The voice belonged to none other than his old rival, Draco Malfoy.

“Yea?” Draco was sitting by the hearth his face illuminated by the firelight.

“What you did for me in front of the ministry I—“ Harry had known this was coming. Ever since he had saved the other man from Azkaban he had been waiting for this.

“Don’t.”

“What?”

  
“Just don’t Malfoy. I did what was right, end of story.”

“But—“ 

“Drop it Malfoy.”

  
“I will not!” He had raised his voice above the hushed tones Harry had noticed they were using. “I owe you a great debt.”

“You don’t owe me anything.”  


“Malfoy is a house of pride—” he began.

  
“Well that’s obvious.”

  
“Please Harry. We take our debts very seriously. I am indebted to you.” Malfoy’s face was scrunched, almost pained. “Please let me make it up to you. I’ll do anything.”

“Anything?”

“Yes, anything that that twisted mind of yours can come up with Potter.” Malfoy spat and grimaced. 

Harry thought hard. What could he possibly wan’t from Malfoy. Public embarrassment sounded nice. 

“I’ll need time to think.”

“Take it, but don’t bother me again until you know what it is.

…

Harry was drowning. Deep in a sea of black. Thousands of hands rose from the depths to pull him down, down, down.


	2. Potion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry can't sleep. He turns to Malfoy for help.

Harry wakes in the middle of the night, like always. He pads to the bathroom and finds it gladly empty. He charms the shower door locked and steps under the steaming spray.

Before Harry came to Hogwarts, a hot shower was a luxury. Harry was always forced to shower last at his childhood home and the hot water was always gone by the time he got there. Harry had taken his first hot shower on the second day of First Year and had fell in love. Whenever he showered he felt like his troubles just melted away.

When Harry is done in the bathroom the morning sun is just cresting over the horizon. The grounds are still wet with dew and they shimmer in the easy morning sunlight. Harry takes the long way around to the great hall making sure to step outside into the cool morning air. Wind tussles his hair and cloak and as he walks he hums to himself. He truly can’t believe he’s back. The castle is all put back together; The Headmistress’ magic took care of that. He remembers the grounds in another time, when they were full of death and destruction. He feels sick to his stomach. He stops at the scene of the final battle and can hardly hold in his nausea. He turns to trudge away and runs smack into something hard and warm.

“Blimey, Potter you ever look where you’re going?” Malfoy is all sharp and sophisticated and is staring at Harry like he’s something his cat just coughed up. He goes in for another insult then notices Harry’s face. “Potter you look like you’ve seen a ghost—“ He starts.

  
“Stuff it Malfoy.” Harry moves to walk past him.

  
“No wait.” Harry pauses. “You feel it too.” Malfoy whispers and gestures to their surroundings.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“This place. Doesn’t it drive you mad Potter? Don’t you think about them?”

“Please Malfoy, don’t do this.”

  
“I still see them.” Malfoy reaches for his arm, crazed.

“Get the fuck away from me!” Harry reels back from his touch like he’s been burned. “Don’t fucking touch me Malfoy.” And Harry’s mad. Mad because Malfoy is right, mad because Malfoy knows that when he closes his eyes he sees their dead classmates, sees his dead friends. He knows that when Harry sleeps corpse hands reach for him, trying to pull him deeper into an infinite sea. “You know nothing about me!Sod off.”

Harry walks briskly to the Great Hall. The Eighth Year table is empty and Harry helps himself to a quick breakfast. A pair of First Years wander up to his table.

“Are you really Harry Potter?” Asks one of them.

“You fought in the war, what was it like?” Asks the bolder of the two.

Harry excuses himself and empties the contents of his stomach in the third floor bathroom. He skips McGonagall’s next dancing lesson. When he sleeps a pale hand reached from the abyss and grabs his ankle. He looks down in horror at pale blue eyes and paler skin and flaxen hair.

…

When Harry was younger, he used to have nightmares. Of course he had them about Voldemort, but he also had them about the Dursley’s and his life before. Before Hogwarts and the Wizarding World, before everything, back when he was just a scared child locked away in a cupboard. He used to take Dreamless Sleep Potion, but he hadn’t used it in years. He heads to the infirmary hoping to find Madam Pomfrey.

“She’s out.” It’s McGonagall he finds instead. “Dragon Pox, I’m sorry Potter but you’ll either have to brew some yourself or find someone who can.” She looks at him with knowing eyes. Harry feels a pit grow in his stomach. He knows he can’t brew the potion himself, and he knows who can.

Harry spends the next day thinking about how to approach Malfoy. The whole thing makes him sick. He can’t think of the other man without seeing his haunted eyes, his pale hands and sickly lips, without seeing the way he sat stoney faced at his trial and waited to be sentenced to Azkaban.

He find the other man in the library at midday on Friday.

“Malfoy.”

  
“Potter.” He responds, not looking up from his reading. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Cut it out. I need your help.” This gets Malfoy’s attention.

“Oh so you’ve thought about my offer?” Malfoys face curls into a grin.

“No!” Harry actually hadn’t thought about what the other man had said over the firelight a few nights ago. “ I need a favor.”

“I don’t do favors Potter, especially for—“

“Listen, I know you don’t like me Malfoy.”

  
“Who said that?” He was smirking now. “What will you give me? If I do you this favor what do I get in return.” His eyes sparkled just a bit with a hint of his old mischief. It was no secret that Malfoy had somewhat lost his spark since the battle of Hogwarts. Harry remembers the way he stared at the Minister as he read Malfoy’s crimes. His eyes had been glazed over and his skin sickly pale, his cheekbones gaunt. He looked terrible then, and now it was the same. Every once in a while though, the man would show just a little piece of his old fire.

“I’m not giving you anything, that’s not how a favor works.”

“Oh so you want to use your debt?” Malfoy smirked at him.

  
“Fine, never mind I’ll give you whatever you want.” Despite being opposed to Malfoy’s concept of him owing him, he knew a debt could come in handy if he was ever in a pinch. Malfoy’s grin broadened.

“Within reason Malfoy.”

“Your companionship.”

  
“What?” said Harry, taken aback.

  
“Don’t be daft, Potter. I want the same thing I’ve wanted all these years. To be your friend.” He looked so serious Harry couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t laugh at me. I’m serious Potter. Don’t you remember the first day of First Year?”

Harry did remember. He didn’t want to be Malfoy’s friend then and he didn’t want to be it now, but he really needed the sleep. Dark circles were beginning to bloom beneath his eyes and if he didn’t start getting some sleep soon he was going to go insane.

“Deal.”

“Splendid, now what can I do for you Potter?”

“Dreamless Sleep Potion.”

“Of course Potter, now wasn’t that easy?”

…

Harry watches Malfoy brew his potion. He doesn’t really think the other man would stoop so low as to poison him but it never hurt to be vigilant. He isn’t really sure what he’s got himself into. Malfoy wanted to be friends with him? Absurd. There was no real way to know his true motives so Harry had no choice but to go along with it. Harry has no idea how he’s possibly going to pull this off. After all, he can barely stand to be in the same room as the other wizard.

Malfoy truly is spectacular at potions, and Harry finds himself transfixed as he watches him work. Malfoy works from memory never checking the recipe book. He knows the measurements and timings by heart, and despite himself, Harry’s impressed. The liquid in the pewter cauldron bubbles and turns a deep purple. Malfoy extinguishes the flame and bottles it up quickly.

“Here.” He says to Harry. “Take a couple sips at bedtime each night for however long you need.” Harry just nods at the other man.

“Thank you.”

Harry takes the potion at bedtime, and for the first time in months, sleeps easy.

…

Malfoy is waiting for him the next morning.  
  
“Sleep well Potter?”

  
“What are you doing?” Harry asks. He doesn’t. Have time for Malfoy’s little games and if he’s going to pretend to be nice to him now it would just be the icing on the cake.

“I’m asking about how you slept…” Malfoy looks confused and then it hits Harry: What Malfoy had asked for in return for the potion.

“You can’t be serious Malfoy.”

“I’m dead serious Potter. Don’t you remember, we’re friends now?’ 

Harry groans. Malfoy really was going to make him hold up his end of the bargain.

“Breakfast? I’m famished.” Say the blonde man, and gestures for Harry to follow him.

Malfoy sits next to him in the Great Hall. Some underclassmen stare and there are whispers from the Gryffindor table.

  
“Potter can you at least look like I’m not holding you hostage?” Malfoy asks halfway through the meal. Harry is midway into biting into a boiled egg. “Really, your friends are staring.” He gestures to the Gryffindor table.

“Those aren’t my friends Malfoy, and to be honest you’re acting very strange. I know you have an ulterior motive and I’m going to figure out what it is.” Malfoy just looks at him like he’s gone mad.

“Whatever you say Potter. See you in the library later, to study yea?”Malfoy finishes the coffee in his mug then gets up and is gone in a flurry of robes.

Harry feels like sinking into his porridge and never coming back up.

.


End file.
